working quickly now. Frenzied.
“At last.”
She felt the cool air on her exposed buttocks as he peeled the fabric away, heard his gasp.
“What is this? Is it meant to drive me out of my skull with desire?” His voice was hoarse, his Greek accent pronounced. “Because, I swear to you, it’s succeeding.”
As his fingers hooked under the tiny bits of white Lycra that made up the minuscule thong she wore, the tremors started again. Stronger this time. Tremors that he must feel. She pictured what he saw: a Y made up of three laces of Lycra. Then there was the narrow triangle of delicate white lace in front that he couldn’t see.
She struggled to find her voice. “That’s the something new.”
“What?” He sounded shell-shocked.
“Something old, something new. Remember? The rhyme I told you about? I thought the dress could do double duty and pass as something old as well as something borrowed.”
“Forget the dress.” He tugged it out from under her, dropping it on the floor. “I don’t want to hear another word about that damned old piece of silk. It’s taken up far too much of our time this evening already.” He stroked a long sweep down her back and whispered, “Your skin is living silk. Pandora, wife, you are amazing.”
She didn’t—couldn’t—answer. A blast of desire unlike anything she’d experienced in her life shook her. Then his hands were running over the naked globes of her bottom, a finger tracing the white thread of the thong that laced across the small of her back. And he was kissing the depression at the base of her back. That finger—oh, glory, that finger—traced the last bit of thong down between her legs. She bit down harder in case she started to scream.
The yearning ache between her legs caused her to shift restlessly … she wanted him to touch her there.
“Is this what you want, agapi?”
His hand was under the whisper of white lace now, at the heart of her, his fingertips exploring the wet crease, touching the tight bud.
A moan broke from her.
She wriggled, opening her legs wider. Another stroke. She went rigid as sensation shafted through her.
“More?” he asked. And touched again.
She fought the ache … the desire … all the while craving—
“More,” she panted.
This time he barely touched her, just the lightest teasing brush of his fingertips, and a fierce heat swept that tiny bead of flesh. This time she screamed and came apart in his arms. Then she lay there breathless, spent, feeling as if a firestorm has swept over her and heard Zac’s murmur full of dark delight in her ear.
“There’s much, much more to come. And we have all night long.”
Three
“It is done.”
Pandora tilted her head at the sound of Zac’s beloved voice and paused in midstep on the balcony outside his study. She’d woken to find Zac gone, only a delicate long-stemmed white rose and a note on the pillow beside her. His writing was strong and slanted and told her that something had come up to which he needed to attend and he’d see her at breakfast in the sunroom downstairs.
She’d risen, placed the rose in a glass of water and picked the discarded wedding dress off the carpet and hung it up carefully. A quick shower to freshen up, and she’d pulled the first thing that came to hand—a filmy sundress with splashes of colour that clung in all the right places—out of the large walk-in cupboard where her clothes had been hung. Leaving her long hair loose, she sprayed a dash of fragrance behind her ears and came to find Zac, still dazed and glowing from the incredible lovemaking of the night before.
Her groom was not in the sunroom, so she skipped through the open doors onto the balcony where they’d kissed last night, wondering what people—his family, his friends, his colleagues—had made of their sudden disappearance from the reception.
Oh, jeez. She shut her eyes. They hadn’t even stuck around long enough to cut the cake. Soon she’d have to face the knowing stares of Zac’s family at lunch. She shuddered at the discomfiting idea.
The sound of voices halted her embarrassing thoughts. From where she lurked on the balcony she could see two men through the French doors—Zac and another man with his back to her. It was the other man who’d spoken. As he turned and raised a fluted glass, she recognised Dimitri, Zac’s cousin. His best man. His best friend. And also his lawyer.
Dimitri had prepared the complex prenuptial contracts and been present when she and Zac had signed them three days ago. Initially she’d pushed aside her instinctive objection that legalities weren’t necessary between her and Zac. But she’d known that Zac was a hardheaded businessman, known her father would expect them. A law firm in London which her father used had vetted them for her and suggested only minor changes.
She hadn’t needed a prenuptial contract to feel secure. Zac’s love had done that.
Embarrassed, she hesitated outside, uncertain what to do next. The last thing in the world she wanted was to walk into that room and meet Dimitri’s gaze. Not after she and Zac had departed so hurriedly last night. She wavered. She longed to wish Zac a good morning, kiss him and let him see the love and joy that bubbled inside her.
Through the crack in the curtains Zac looked utterly gorgeous. She stole another look as he clinked his glass with his cousin.
“I thought I’d never find her, Dimitri,” Pandora heard him say. “My wedding is definitely cause to celebrate.”
“Vre, you have been lucky. And so beautiful, too, you lucky dog.”
Pandora grinned. Men! Love was not enough, beauty was always important. But she was touched at the relief in Zac’s voice as he’d said I thought I’d never find her. His relief in finding someone to love.
She felt the same about him.
Yesterday he’d told her he thought she was perfect. Well, she disagreed. He was perfect. She was the luckiest—
“It is done—finally. Now there is no going back.” Something about the tone of Zac’s voice interrupted her musings and stopped her from rushing headlong into the room. She paid close attention. “No one knows better than you that this prophecy has been the bane of my life.”
“I know, cousin. But it’s tradition. A tradition that haunts the Kyriakos heir.”
She listened harder, intrigued. What prophecy? What tradition? What on earth were they talking about?
Dimitri was still speaking. He’d crossed the room, his back to the glass doors. Pandora strained her ears to hear what he was saying. “It’s the twenty-first century—you would’ve thought that the family, the public, would be prepared to let it go.”
“They can’t.” Zac gave a harsh sigh. “And neither can I. The risks are too high.”
“You mean, the likelihood of Kyriakos Shipping’s share prices dipping are too high, don’t you?”
“That, too.”
Pandora cocked her head. What was all this about haunting and share prices? For an instant she considered pushing the door open, striding in and demanding an explanation. But something held her back. Something that filled her stomach with cold dread.
For a moment she considered turning, walking away, pretending she’d never heard whatever this conversation concerned. It scared her. Made her stomach cramp and apprehension swarm around inside her head like a clutch of bewildered bees.
Yes, she should pretend. She could retreat, then stamp her way back down the corridor, make an entrance that they would hear. She could look Dimitri straight in the eye and pretend that she and Zac hadn’t